The harsh fluorescent lights overhead cast a sterile glow on the interrogation room. Polisinspektör Mikael Hansson, steepled his fingers on the metal table, his gaze unwavering on Calle Andersson, the young man slumped opposite him. Mikael had been in the force long enough to recognize a thousand shades of guilt, and Calle wore them all.
"So, Calle," Mikael began, his voice even, "you told us you were jealous of Sara."
Calle, barely nineteen, chewed on his bottom lip, his eyes flitting around the room. "Yeah, I guess. We were…well, we were together, right?"
"Yes, that's what you said," Mikael acknowledged. "But jealousy strong enough to…" he trailed off, letting the implication hang heavy in the air.
Calle mumbled something inaudible. Mikael leaned forward. "Let me be clear, Calle. Sara Jonsson was murdered. You, her boyfriend, admit to jealousy. That makes you a prime suspect."
Calle shot up, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "I didn't kill her! We just argued a bit, like couples do. We patched it up, I swear!"
"About what?" Mikael pressed. "What were you arguing about?"
"It was stupid," Calle mumbled, sinking back into his chair. "She wanted to go out with her friends tonight, to the green behind the church."
Mikael raised an eyebrow. "And you didn't want her to go?"
"Not really," Calle admitted. "There's… there's this older guy always hanging around them. Name's Erik, I think. He creeps me out."
"Did you tell Sara this?"
A short nod. "She said I was being overprotective. Said she could handle herself."
"So, you let her go?"
Another nod. "Yeah. Said I'd meet her there later, after her friends went home."
Mikael leaned back. "And did you meet her?"
Calle's voice dropped to a whisper. "No. When I got there, it was… it was just awful. I found her…" He choked back a sob, burying his face in his hands.
Silence stretched between them, broken only by Calle's ragged breaths. Mikael watched him, gauging his reaction. It seemed genuine, but grief could be a great mask.
"Calle," Mikael finally said, his voice softer now, "tell me everything that happened that night. From the moment you left Sara, until you found her."
Calle took a deep, shuddering breath. "I went to the pub, the one by the station. Didn't mean to stay long, just wanted a beer to calm down. But then I ran into some guys I know, and…" He trailed off, shame flickering across his face.
"And what, Calle?" Mikael prompted gently.
"We… we ended up playing some pool. Lost track of time, honestly. By the time I left, it was late. I figured Sara would be gone by then, so I just… I went home."
"Did you see anyone at the green? Anyone suspicious?"
Calle shook his head. "No, the place was deserted. Streetlights were out too, which was weird. Must've been a power outage or something."
Mikael made a note. A power outage could explain why no one might have seen Calle coming or going. "What time did you get home?"
"Around midnight, maybe later. My dad was asleep, didn't bother him."
"And what did you do then?"
"Went to bed. Woke up to the sirens this morning."
Mikael studied him for a long moment. "Calle, can anyone corroborate your story?"
Calle's face crumpled. "The guys at the pub, I guess. But they might not remember…"
"We'll talk to them," Mikael promised. "But Calle, there are inconsistencies. You say you were jealous, yet you let her go out. You said you found her, but you didn't see anyone else there."
Calle's voice rose, desperation creeping in. "I'm telling the truth! I loved Sara! I wouldn't hurt her!"
Mikael sighed. He believed Calle might be genuinely distraught, but love and guilt didn't always make someone innocent. "Calle, we're just trying to find out what happened to Sara. Any detail, no matter how small, could help."
Calle slumped further in his chair, defeated. "I… I don't know what else to tell you."
Mikael stood up. "Well Calle, i have something to tell you. You are under arrest for the murder of Sara Jonsson.
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